Telephone
by The-Jellybaby-Bandit
Summary: "I'm huddled here in the dark and he won't leave me be" - Puck  "He ran and he won't let me explain" - Kurt *** Puck/Kurt - one-shot with legs. Rated M for language *** NOW COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own rights to any of the characters from Glee. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

**WARNING: This story includes a minor spoiler for Season 2 of Glee. You have been duly warned.  
**

**A/N: This is a first-person introspective one-shot with potential for more. It's a little different to my usual writing style. The premise might end up branching off into something more substantial but I don't really know. This was more of a bleeding off of my own building angst – I poured it into the story instead of into my own life at the moment. I don't know whether this even ended up being worth reading in the end.**

"**Telephone by The Jellybaby Bandit"**

* * *

"_Stop callin', stop callin',  
I don't wanna think anymore!  
I left my head and my heart on the dance floor.  
Stop callin', stop callin',  
I don't wanna talk anymore!  
I left my _head_ and my heart on the dance floor"_

I pray to whatever deity that's listening that that song would stop playing but it won't. It never does – it's... incessant... I think that's the word. That or incestuous I'm not really sure to be honest. I should have read more books as a kid.

It was a mistake. I should never have allowed him to play around with my damn cell. I have no damn idea how to change the song now that it's been chosen. And all the song does is force me to picture his face.

"_Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
Stop telephonin' me!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
I'm busy!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
Stop telephonin' me!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…"_

It's amazing how things have changed. It used to be that I was loud. I was confident. I was the baddest mother in town. But that seems like it was such a long time ago now.

Now look at me. I'm a fucking mess. I'm hunched up with my knees to my chest in a dingy, stinking motel room that I haven't left in days and I'm _fucking_ hiding from him. And I'm hiding from the growing pain in my chest that says I want to cry.

I will not cry.

I won't.

Please.

"_Stop callin', stop callin',  
I don't wanna think anymore!  
I left my _head_ and my heart on the dance floor.  
Stop callin', stop callin',  
I don't wanna talk anymore!  
I left my _head_ and my heart on the dance floor"_

He just won't let me go. He won't leave me be like I've pleaded with him a hundred times already. I'm 23 years old and I'm hiding from him like a scared child. I haven't been a scared child since... well since I was a scared child.

Hey Dad – hope you're rotting in Hell – I'm doing fine thanks.

"_Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
Stop telephonin' me!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
I'm busy!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
Stop telephonin' me!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…"_

I don't know why I let him touch my cell.

Scratch that - yes I do – he smiled at me. He fucking smiled at me and I just handed it over like that. I must have impulse control issues.

I _fucking_ hate that Gaga dude too. I don't care whether she showed the world a blurry outline of her pussy in that music video or not – with what they can do with computers these days it'd be easy to airbrush out a cock.

"_Stop callin', stop callin',  
I don't wanna think anymore!  
I left my _head_ and my heart on the dance floor.  
Stop callin', stop callin',  
I don't wanna talk anymore!  
I left my _head_ and my heart on the dance floor"_

I don't know why he still calls. I haven't picked up a single one in nearly three days now. I'm actually quite impressed with the battery life on my cell. It's been three days since – well since _it_ happened.

I don't want to think about that though.

Time gone by I'd have picked up one of his endless stream of calls – told him exactly what I thought of him and left him the broken and beaten one. He'd have been the one left a broken mess over the thought of never being spoken to again. But I know. I just know that if I pick up that I'll break.

"_Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
Stop telephonin' me!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
I'm busy!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
Stop telephonin' me!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…"_

This fragile shell that I've wrapped myself in – this paper thin barrier that's keeping me from being a complete basket case – would tear itself apart and I'd be exposed like a raw nerve.

I just can't take that chance. I can't allow myself to be hurt – not now, not ever. I need to go back to the way I was before and fast before I crumble. I need to be uncaring, brash, loud, womanising – those are the character traits I weeded out for _him_ that I now need to cultivate again.

Do you see?

"_Stop callin', stop callin',  
I don't wanna think anymore!  
I left my _head_ and my heart on the dance floor.  
Stop callin', stop callin',  
I don't wanna talk anymore!  
I left my _head_ and my heart on the dance floor"_

_'Cultivate?'_

Two years ago I'd have never used a word like that. That's _his_ influence. Operation 'Make-Me-Better' shown clearly for all to see. It had all started out so innocently. Wish I'd known then what I know now.

What happened to me? I used to be the baddest mother walking the face of the Earth. I was admired by some and feared by most. I left High School and went off to Ohio State on a scholarship – a full ride too – and I steadily lost contact with almost all of the douches I'd been lumbered with during my time at WMHS.

The future looked – not unlimited – but a Hell of a lot more rosy than it turned out to be.

"_Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
Stop telephonin' me!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
I'm busy!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
Stop telephonin' me!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…"_

The only person I keep any kind of regular contact going with from High School is Finn – and that's only because we both ended up at the same College and had to share an _excruciating_ number of classes together. Thank God we didn't end up sharing a dorm or I'd be locked away in a Penitentiary right now.

After the whole pregnancy 'thing' back in High School it was never the same between Finn and I anyway. I can tell he still resents me to this day. I don't see how it's my fault that it turns out he's firing blanks at twenty-three.

Douche.

"_Stop callin', stop callin',  
I don't wanna think anymore!  
I left my _head_ and my heart on the dance floor.  
Stop callin', stop callin',  
I don't wanna talk anymore!  
I left my _head_ and my heart on the dance floor"_

Keeping in touch with Finn though kept me in the loop and so through the gossip grapevine I know where most of the Glee kids are now that High School is over and life has begun. They say your High School years are supposed to be the best years of your life – _fuck me_ I hope that's not true. If they do turn out to be, then this whole 'existence' shit is totally overrated.

I know from Finn, that Artie went to MIT and that he's now working for the Government in some ultra top secret research lab in the Nevada Desert. No doubt he's dissecting aliens or some shit like that. Good for him.

Tina and Mike managed somehow to stay together from Junior year at High School all the way through College. They'd even kept it going despite being at different Colleges 3,000 miles apart. They were last time I'd bothered to listen, travelling the world on Daddy's dime before settling down – no doubt to start firing out dozens of tech-savvy sprogs. They've been travelling for nearly a year now I think. Good for them too.

"_Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
Stop telephonin' me!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
I'm busy!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
Stop telephonin' me!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…"_

Santana and Brittany. Now those were some fun times I have to admit. In true lipstick lesbian style they'd split soon after High School ended and went their separate ways. I laughed so hard when I found out Finn was actually trying to date Brittany a short while after the split. God can you just imagine the vacant looks on the faces of their children? Thank God that relationship didn't get past the second date. The world will never know the bullet it dodged by being spared the offspring of a Finn/Brittany coupling. Eww.

Eww? _Fucking_ eww?

That's more of _his _influence again. Gotta stop doing that. Need to get that old mojo back and firing on all cylinders. Version 2.0 needs to be put back to factory settings.

And for _fuck's _sake I wish that cell would stop ringing already.

"_Stop callin', stop callin',  
I don't wanna think anymore!  
I left my _head_ and my heart on the dance floor.  
Stop callin', stop callin',  
I don't wanna talk anymore!  
I left my _head_ and my heart on the dance floor"_

Anyways, ignoring the cell – Santana last I heard was reapplying to Brown having flunked out the first time round to go live on a commune in Israel. A latina living in a Kibbutz. Now there's a mindfuck if ever there was one.

Brittany after dumping Hudson's ass cold is still going to classes part-time at Lima Community College. I see her from time to time though we don't do much of anything other than nod in passing.

"_Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
Stop telephonin' me!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
I'm busy!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
Stop telephonin' me!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…"_

I'm starting to hate the invention of cell phones. I'm severely tempted just to flush the damn thing down the toilet. But it was an expensive handset – not one I bought either, _he_ did – and of course, I didn't take the insurance on it. So as much as I might want to, there goes that plan out the window.

Out the window. I can see it's dark right now out of the window of this prison cell cum motel room cum bolt hole. There's a never ending glow from the neon hula girl that hangs above the motel entrance way. I'm bathed in pink light right now. It's so gay. But then that's the whole problem isn't it? Enough of those thoughts. Focus on something else.

"_Stop callin', stop callin',  
I don't wanna think anymore!  
I left my _head_ and my heart on the dance floor.  
Stop callin', stop callin',  
I don't wanna talk anymore!  
I left my _head_ and my heart on the dance floor"_

Aretha decided to go into writing – who knew she could write shit. She's already had a book published and last I heard she was living in a loft in Manhattan with some football or baseball player for the Jets or Mets – I forget which. But good for her too. She always got a raw deal in High School – she deserved way more solos than she got.

Speaking of solos – Berry. Rachel Berry – fame and fortune came her way but not in the way she expected. Falling from the stage at her opening night on Broadway and straight into the orchestra pit gave her notoriety sure – while the injuries she sustained, including a broken pelvis, gave her the fortune part courtesy of a healthy insurance policy.

"_Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
Stop telephonin' me!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
I'm busy!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…  
Stop telephonin' me!  
Eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh, eh…"_

My arms are trembling from holding my knees up to my chest for so long. I probably stink like a sewer rat too. Not moving for three days – and hence not showering – will do that to a guy.

Jesus I'm fucked up. Hell I'm Jewish and I'm praying to Jesus – if that isn't fucked up I don't know what is.

Quinn. Quinn and I... well that's a long story. I guess saying that Finn is the only one of the Glee club kids I still keep in contact with isn't strictly true. It's complicated the thing with Quinn and I – I guess when you've had a kid with someone that sort of comes with the territory.

Hold on I just realised. No – really? Has it stopped? Has he finally given up?

I stretch my aching limbs out and groan as I look over at the offending object. The screen is still brightly lit but there's no music. Three days of that same dozen lines of Gaga is enough to drive anyone gaga. I wouldn't be surprised if the Government use Gaga as an alternative to waterboarding.

"Is it...", my voice is hoarse and scratchy from days of no use, "... has he given up?"

I reach out and pick up the offending cell tentatively – I half expect it to start ringing again the moment it makes contact with my skin.

It doesn't though and I breathe a sigh of relief. One hundred and seven missed calls. One hundred and seven in three days.

Is that all?

It felt like more. But I'm too relieved to have the moments respite to care. Carelessly I throw the cell back down on the counter as I lay my head down on the thin pillow. Maybe I can get some sleep. Sleep hasn't come easy of late.

* * *

Even with my eyes closed I can still see the pink neon glow that suffuses the room. Sleep isn't coming to me despite my bone weary exhaustion. There's just too much shit floating around inside my head right now.

_'God dammit...'_

Why can't things just be simple again like they were before? Sure life hasn't worked out the way I thought it would. Or hoped it would. After College I had hoped I'd have some idea of what I wanted to do. But I didn't – no clue whatsoever.

As it turned out all I ended up with was a useless Degree and no direction.

Ha - there's a joke – I went from New Directions to No Direction.

So I ended up despite everything, back in Lima at the age of 22 with a Degree certificate of more use for wiping my ass than getting me a job and about thirty bucks and change in my pocket. I refused to live back with Ma though – besides the bitch rented my room out the moment I left for Ohio State. My childhood bed is now the resting place of some Cuban or Mexican immigrant or something. That is when he's not in Ma's bed fucking her brains out when he's short on the rent money.

So I instead slipped back to the life I knew. I rented myself a small room above a seedy bar – it was basic and the bar was a total dive but it had a thick secure door and a strong lock. Besides, it's not like I had anything worth stealing anyways.

And I started back cleaning pools in order to make money.

I hated it and I came to hate myself.

The pitying looks I'd get from the cougars who had just a few years earlier been at my beck and call, turned what had once been the dream job into a nightmare that I just couldn't wake up from. I had gone from being badass to being pitiful.

* * *

I was about at the end of my rope when I saw the advert in the paper. It wasn't exactly what I wanted but the more I thought about it, the more I realised I had precious other options available to me. If I wanted to do anything with my life I'd need to start somewhere.

And so I answered the ad to became an apprentice mechanic.

I'm not ashamed to admit that I was bricking it when I went in to interview for the job. I hadn't bothered to read the ad to see _who_ the job was working for - all I saw was the opportunity.

I almost turned and ran as I'd walked up to the garage entrance and saw the sign hanging with the familiar sign on it – 'Hummel's'. I realised that there was a good chance that I'd never leave the place alive considering how I'd treated the owner's son in High School.

But I needed the job and so I swallowed my pride.

As it happens, Mr H had been a stand-up guy about it. I have no doubt that apologising to him for all the shit I'd pulled as a teenager made a difference.

I have no idea what he saw in me to this day, but he offered me the job and I snatched at it.

I had always been good with my hands – or so the cougars had told me – but as it turned out I liked the work too. It was... interesting. I picked it all up pretty easily too and before a year was out I'd become a part of the fixtures down at Hummel's.

* * *

"_Stop callin', stop callin',  
I don't wanna think anymore!  
I left my _head_ and my heart on the dance floor.  
Stop callin', stop callin',  
I don't wanna talk anymore!  
I left my _head_ and my heart on the dance floor"_

I don't know how much more of this I can take. I snatch up the offending cell and contemplate just hurling it at the wall. But something makes stop and just stare as the screen flashes and the cell pulses rhythmically.

It's not going to go away – I can't hide here forever. It's a fucking joke that I've even been reduced to this, huddling in the dark like some kind of pussy-fied animal. Yeah I know pussy-fied isn't a real word but fuck it.

I'm Noah Puckerman. I won't bow to anyone and I won't break.

I press the bright green key and take a deep breath.

"Noah?"

The fight drains out of me again and I'm back where I knew I would be. I'm breaking apart and there's nothing I can do about it.

"..."

"Noah please... just talk to me..."

"..."

"I love you..."

_'Shit... I'm crying after all...

* * *

_

**A/N: Well - comments, criticisms - suggestions? I think if this is going to be expanded upon I'm going to make it a little bit of a challenge for my readership ;D**

**What would you like to see? What kind of a plot do you think fills in the gaps?**

**If there's anything in particular you would like to see in print but haven't read or have thought about but not written yourself... send me the idea and if I like it I'll incorporate it.**

**ABOVE ALL - PLEASE REVIEW AND LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own rights to any of the characters from Glee. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

**A/N: Well seeing the overwhelming response asking for more I decided that I'd set aside NDNB for the moment and concentrate on this – this seems to be flowing from me a lot easier so I figure 'path of least resistance' and all that jazz. Writing as a stream of consciousness seems to work for me.**

**This is from Kurt's perspective. First-person again (such a change from what I've written in the past, I quite like it).**

**There's one person in particular that I decided to style the character of Lukas for – I'm sure he'll pick up on the reference, especially when I admit that he originally started out as Italian XD**

"**Telephone by The Jellybaby Bandit"**

**Chapter Two – Bad Romance...**

* * *

"_I want your love  
And I want your revenge  
You and me could write a bad romance  
I want your love  
And all your lover's revenge  
You and me could write a bad romance"_

My cell keeps ringing and I wish it would stop. I'm not in the mood to be taking any calls from the people at work. I haven't done so in several days now so it's no surprise that they're probably concerned. I'm notorious for my micro-management – no detail too small.

So they keep calling even though I don't pick up – it's incessant. An annoying background buzzing that just won't go away. I ignore the thought that it could be Lukas that's calling me – that's not something I want to focus on right now. If I do I'm liable to break apart into millions of little pieces.

I'm freaking out. It's been three days now and he won't answer my calls. I've been so stupid. Why did I have to go and ruin things?

I've lost count of how many times I've tried to call him. I know it's a lot by now but I _have_ to speak to him. I have to try to make him understand.

"_Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh!  
Oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh!  
Caught in a bad romance_

_Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh!  
__Oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh!  
Caught in a bad romance" _

If I answer the call I'll end up in a conversation about something that I really couldn't care less about right now. I know – who'd have thought that I'd ever have said that about fashion?

I can almost hear on the wind, the sound of the ringtone I picked for his cell – even though all I can hear is the standard tone on my end of the line – I'm calling from the hotel line in the hopes that he'll answer the unknown number. He never does though but I'm not one to give up that easily.

I'm pretty sure that he doesn't know how to change the ringtone himself – either that or he just doesn't care about that kind of thing – it was still on the factory pre-set when I changed it after all.

It's been three days though and the cell is still switched on. Which means either he's kept it with him and just isn't answering it or he's ditched it somewhere. I pray it's not the latter. If it's the latter then I don't know what I'll do.

"_I want your love  
And I want your revenge  
You and me could write a bad romance  
I want your love  
And all your lover's revenge  
You and me could write a bad romance"_

Things have changed so drastically in the last two years that my head is still spinning. Everything used to make sense to me. I got through High School and went straight to New York the next day and from there got myself a job at Prada and then hey presto – instant fame and stardom.

I always knew that something good would come of being – well _me_ – but I never imagined that I'd have already left Prada behind to become the head of my own Fashion House by the age of twenty. True, I was always ready to critique an outfit when I was younger, but it never occurred to me to think about actually designing them myself.

Who knew that I'd find not only a talent for it but also an appreciative audience?

"_Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh!  
Oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh!  
Caught in a bad romance_

_Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh!  
Oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh!  
__Caught in a bad romance" _

There's no point in beating about the bush – I was a millionaire by twenty – a multi-millionaire by twenty-three. My creations are worn by some of Hollywood's biggest stars and now when I decide that something's 'in fashion' – it's the big boys like Prada and D & G who sit up and take notice.

I was happy for a while. I was consumed by my work for so long – designing and fitting – media and travelling the world for fashion shows. I've been all over the world, London, Paris, Tokyo... and Milan.

* * *

Milan. That's where I met the sixteen-year old Lukas – while I was debuting some of my Autumn Collection. I was twenty-one years old and in the Italian fashion capital for the first time and so was he.

And he was so beautiful and attentive – so eager to learn. One of the young models chosen by my scouts. He was just an ordinary kid from an ordinary town in Sweden, who just happened to be the single hottest thing I'd ever laid my eyes on.

"_I want your love  
And I want your revenge  
You and me could write a bad romance  
I want your love  
And all your lover's revenge  
You and me could write a bad romance"_

Naturally he's taller than me, but then let's face it at 5'8'', that's hardly going to be difficult is it. His messy blonde hair, which I just wanted to run my fingers through straight away. His piercing blue eyes – so like my own. That warm smile filled with 100% natural pearly white teeth. He captivated me and I lost myself in him – in his eyes and his smile. And then again when I took him to my bed.

Lukas wasn't anything like the usual arrogant self-important clothes horses that think because they wear the clothes that they have the talent. Who designs what they wear? Who _hires_ them in the first place?

"_Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh!  
Oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh!  
Caught in a bad romance_

_Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh!  
Oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh!  
Caught in a bad romance"_

My well publicised cat-fight with Tyra Banks is the stuff of legend now. The YouTube generation bit me in the ass on that one – one slip and it's recorded for the world to see again and again. Still no publicity is bad publicity as it turns out and Tyra did look bloated – I stand by my comments.

The line is still ringing and he won't answer. I've gotten into this pattern, now so ingrained into my being that I'm hanging up and redialling as a reflex. Each time the line pauses and the voicemail gets ready to kick in, I'm on that disconnect button like Sophie Anderton on a line of coke.

Hang up. Redial.

_'Please pick up...'_

I sent Lukas back to New York to wait for me at my apartment. It wouldn't do to have him hanging around – besides it just makes me feel guilty to see his face. Even when I picture him in my minds eye I feel the guilt – I can't imagine how crappy I'd feel if he were still here.

"_I want your love  
And I want your revenge  
You and me could write a bad romance  
I want your love  
And all your lover's revenge  
You and me could write a bad romance"_

Christ I've messed everything up so badly.

I will admit I've not kept in touch with many of my friends from High School – the only ones I keep any kind of contact with are Mercedes, Tina and Quinn – the latter usually only by email. I realise it makes me a bad person when most of my responses to Quinn aren't actually from my own mouth – my assistant Sebastian handles all of that for me. I'm a busy person after all.

"_Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh!  
Oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh!  
Caught in a bad romance_

_Oh-oh-oh-oh-oooh!  
Oh-oh-oooh-oh-oh!  
Caught in a bad romance"_

My lifestyle has consumed me I think – so much that I just can't function in the _normal_ world anymore. That must be it. There's no other explanation. I've become this – this _monster_ – a horrible vacuous self-serving person so devoid of any kind of empathy for my fellow man that I just can't relate anymore. How could I treat him the way I did otherwise?

I can't take it anymore. If I don't stop them calling me I'm going to go nuts. I pick up my cell and I launch it at the far wall with as much strength as I can muster. Oh thank God – blessed silence at long last.

Dammit – still no answer. Hang up. Redial.

* * *

I've been sitting in my penthouse suite for three days straight now. Thank God for room service or I wouldn't have eaten or drunk anything in that whole time. I dread to think what my reflection looks like right now. I've got all of the curtains drawn and despite it being the middle of August, I've got the large fireplace going making the air almost sauna like.

I don't usually go for facial hair, preferring to keep my skin completely clean shaven however I've not moved in three days so I guess I have a little stubble. It never grows in even though - like a patchwork quilt. Lukas would scold me for letting myself go like I have.

Lukas. God I don't know what I'm going to do there. I brought him all the way from Milan back to New York with me. He became the face – and the abs – of my next three season's collections. And – I loved him – I really and completely loved him.

Which is why I made the decision on my twenty-second birthday to go on a pilgrimage. Back to where it all started. Back to Lima, Ohio – that little backwards town that I was so _pleased_ to have escaped from after Graduation. Of course it also helped that Dad had broken his leg and that I had no choice but to come back to look after him. He was getting old after all – almost 50 now.

A part of me wishes I'd never had the notion to go home. I should have hired a nurse to look after Dad and stayed in New York or in my house in the Hamptons. If I had then none of this would have ever happened and I'd still be blissfully ignorant. But I wanted to introduce him to Lukas – the man I'd thought I was going to spend the rest of my life with.

Why did I have to go and fall in love with someone else? And why did it have to be _him_?

It was gradual you see? It wasn't like one day I turned up back in Lima and decided that I loved another person. It took two years before I realised what was happening. That I was shirking working in New York in favour of going home to Lima more and more. And it wasn't to see my Dad like I told both myself and everyone else that asked.

It was to see _him _– even though he didn't know why I kept coming back either. He thought we had simply struck up an unlikely friendship. And we did. At first.

I need him now though. I need him to need me and if he doesn't? Best not to think about that I don't think. I'll probably come apart at the seams if I think about that.

Lukas doesn't understand yet exactly what's happened, I don't think. He's a beautiful boy but he's not the brightest crayon in the box. Even so I'll make sure that he's set for life before I send him back to Milan or Tokyo or wherever he wants to go.

And he will have to go – somewhere far away from me at the very least – I can't continue to live a lie with him. Not knowing what I know now. That I love another more than I could ever conceive of loving him.

God that makes me a horrible person doesn't it? To on the one hand want to send him away and on the other wish that he were here right now because I would kill for someone to wrap me up in their arms and tell me that everything will be OK.

Someone. Not someone. Him. Only him. And that's the problem. It's only him and if he doesn't answer he'll never know that.

I pull back one of the heavy curtains at the balcony doors which was blocking out the moonlight from the night sky. I stare out the window at the moon and I can't help but wonder whether he's looking at it too. Whether he thinks of me as I think of him.

No answer. Hang up. Redial.

_'Please answer... the silence is deafening...'_

I know I treated him badly. I tried to mould him and craft him into something that Lukas could never be. And it all blew up in my face because I was impulsive.

I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life. Alone and lonely if he doesn't answer. If he doesn't tell me where he is and let me _fix_ what I've broken between us.

What if he never forgives me? What if I hurt him too much? Can I do this without him? Can I go back to New York to my empty apartment and go back to my old life?

Do I even want to go back to my old life if he's not there to live it with me from now on?

The answer is no. It's all or nothing now. I'd give up everything I have if it would make him answer the phone. I'd sell it all – the business, the homes, the cars... none of it matters when I'm alone. I'd go back to being Kurt Hummel – Burt's gay son – with not a penny to my name if it meant I got to be with him. I'd happily throw on a set of coveralls and work alongside him in the shop day after day if it meant that at the end of each day I got to go home with him.

I want the domestic life. I want him because he's so _unlike_ the life I've surrounded myself with. He's the balance that I've unknowingly been craving as I slipped deeper and deeper into a pit of bubbling despair.

I love you, Noah please pick up.

* * *

I didn't mean for any of this to happen you know? I was just lonely and I wanted a friend. And weird as it is to admit it. Work was hectic, life was getting to me and he turned out to be the one I wanted to be friends with. I was just as surprised as anyone believe me when he offered to listen if I wanted to talk.

There were no airs and graces between us despite the differing lots that life had handed us. Me a millionaire fashion designer and he an average paid mechanic who worked for my Dad. I didn't have to pretend to be someone I'm not around him and Lord knows he didn't try to pretend to be anything other than who he is. I was still the gay kid he slushied when he was a jock to him – it was a simple relationship with no subterfuge.

He'd never liked Lukas though. He's always been quite vocal – probably quite rightly that the Swedish boy wasn't the right fit for me – despite my protests that I loved the boy. I guess he was right.

I don't think he ever dreamed though that he'd end up being the right fit for me. I think if he'd known that he wouldn't have said anything.

But it's too late now. I let the cat out of the bag on that one royally. And he ran. And now he won't pick-

_'Oh please...'_

"Noah?"

God please say something. Anything. Shout. Scream. Tell me to leave you alone and never speak to you again. Just anything except this howling silence.

"Noah please... just talk to me..."

I can hear his ragged breathing on the other end of the line so I know he can hear me and he's not just set the cell down. He's there – he just doesn't want to speak to me.

I have nothing left to lose.

"I love you..."

His sobs echo down the line and my heart breaks for him. What have I done?

* * *

**A/N: There we go – another small excerpt of what started as a ramble yesterday evening. I'm not going to get too involved in this though. I might do a little bit more on it just to bring everything together but I wouldn't imagine it'll go beyond a couple of tens of thousands of words all in.**

**Thank you to all who gave me suggestions for what to write. **

**To PteraWaters – I knew because that song has been stuck in my head since Tuesday too! XD**

**Enjoy.**

**AND PLEASE – REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do NOT own rights to any of the characters from Glee. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.**

**A/N: OK this is the final chapter to this little writing adventure – I'm killing it off now so that it doesn't grow arms and legs. I'm not going to be one of these authors that starts loads of projects and never finishes them. **

**Thank you to everyone for your reviews. This chapter will jump back between Puck and Kurt's perspectives as they each have their side of the conversation. I hope it reads OK, I found that I couldn't write it any other way.**

"**Telephone by The Jellybaby Bandit"**

**Chapter Three – Paparazzi...**

* * *

"_I'm your biggest fan, I'll follow you until you love me  
Papa, paparazzi  
Baby, there's no other superstar, you know that I'll be  
Your papa, paparazzi _

_Promise I'll be kind  
But I won't stop until that boy is mine  
Baby, you'll be famous, chase you down until you love me  
Papa, paparazzi" _

I stifle the sob that escapes me almost immediately. I'm Puck for _fuck's _sake. I'm not going to sit here crying like a pussy. I won't cry over him.

He wants me to talk. But my throat just isn't following my commands.

And it's not like I'm scared of talking or anything either.

I want to talk.

I want to rip into him so badly and make him feel what I'm feeling right now. I want to shred his damn mask into pieces and talk to the real Kurt Hummel – not 'Kurt Hummel: Celebrity'.

His voice sounds so full of regret on the other end of the line.

I've always felt protective of Kurt – even back in the early days when I'd warn off the other jocks from riding the boy too hard at High School. Of course, I still had to do some things to him to keep up appearances – but still to this day he doesn't know just how much interference I ran.

When he came back into my life again after so many years away it was like I'd been given a second chance. A chance at having the friendship with Kurt that being a badass jock in High School had denied me. No way could I have possibly been a badass if I were to admit I wanted to be best friends with the gay kid.

I clear my throat and swallow desperately trying to get some saliva into my suddenly dry mouth.

"Don't say that!"

I intended for my voice to sound harsh and uncaring - but my voice cracking – I didn't plan on that. It ended up sounding like more of a plea than anything.

_'You don't love me. You don't. You couldn't. You shouldn't'_

There's a pause on the line I listen to his reply.

"Bullshit!"

There I'm getting back my equilibrium now. He's suddenly silent on the other end of the line and I can hear him sniffling. Good he should _fucking_ sniffle.

I won't though. I'm too angry right now to contemplate tears. Nobody treats Noah Puckerman like _he_ has.

"If you're not ashamed of me why did you do it?"

Answer that Kurt. Answer that one question and I'll maybe think about not hanging up on this call and never talking to you again.

His answer stutters but it's honest as far as I can tell.

Dammit why did this have to happen? My life sucked royally before but now? Now it's even worse and it could get worse still.

* * *

I'm just relieved that he's talking to me more than anything else. He won't believe me when I tell him that I love him though and it hurts like a hammer blow to the chest.

"But it's true, Noah no you have to believe me...", the plea in my voice is unmistakeable, "... I love you – I'm not ashamed of you."

Is that true? Because my actions suggest otherwise – even to me.

Clearly he doesn't believe it and I run out of words when he shouts back at me. I try to stifle the overwhelming desire to start to cry. I'm not all that successful but it's a lot better than it could have been.

I'm not going to be able to fix this. The thought fills me with despair.

"I – I was scared and I was trying to protect you."

* * *

"Protect me?", my voice is harsh this time and I cut Kurt off with my tirade, "... you protected yourself!"

I stand up, my knees protesting the action having not been used in so long, and start to pace. Pacing helps me to keep my anger stoked – it would have drained away by now otherwise.

I can't forgive him – even though a part of me, a part I'm trying to deny – already has.

"Are you – are you _high_?"

* * *

If I hadn't done it then they'd have run the story and it would have ruined me – ruined us. But then I've already succeeded in ruining _us_. I have to make him understand _why_ – even if it's the last conversation we ever have. As I'm starting to suspect this will be.

"I know...", I pause for a second as my voice is high and squeaky and I clear my throat, "...but you have to see it from my perspective..."

I have to make him understand. I'm not just Kurt Hummel anymore – as much as I had wanted to deny it by having this _secret_ life back in Lima – I have fame and fortune. And with that comes trashy tabloid stories about how I've been screwing around on my boyfriend with some meathead mechanic from a backwater town.

I wince at the meathead jibe – those weren't my words – they were the words of the reporter.

"_Kurt Hummel slums it with meathead mechanic..."_

That was to be the strap line and it would have ruined everything. My carefully constructed house of cards would have collapsed all around me.

So I dealt with it. I dealt with it like I deal with everything to do with my life – efficiently and most importantly _privately_.

How can he possibly think that I could put a figure on his worth to me. He's the most important thing in my universe. I'm suddenly angry right back at him for his presumption. Despite his bravado and rough exterior, Noah always has had self-worth issues.

"No I'm not _high_..."

* * *

How can he even think that it's in any way acceptable. Like I'd ever consent to being a kept woman – some gay guy's bitch. That's total bullshit and he knows it.

"How much did it cost Kurt? Fifty? A hundred? How much am I worth?"

I can hear his breath hitching – clearly my words are having the effect that I hoped for. I want him to realise his mistake.

I want him to regret it. He promised me if we did it that it'd be open and honest – I guess that was a load of bullshit too.

Kurt Hummel: Bullshit Peddler to the Stars

The knowledge that I'm denying that he already does regret it? I squash that easily with my anger – it doesn't fit in with my new 'lone-wolf' persona.

My jaw goes slack in surprise - that is a shitload lot of money. Still I know that he can afford it – he'll probably have justified it somehow. Probably made it a tax deductible expenditure for when the IRS comes calling.

He's still trying to justify it. Justify himself.

* * *

That came out more bitchy than I had aimed for but it got the point across. Being high would be nice right about now though. It'd sure take the edge of the hysterics that I can feel creeping up on me. Being in my industry you can't really avoid drug taking – the practice pervades everything from top to bottom.

I've had my own battles with addiction – some which Noah had helped me work through. I was now sober and clean almost fourteen months. Surely that counts for something?

He wants an answer though – he wants to know how much I think he's worth – how much the reporter wanted to keep the story from going to press. Doesn't he understand that I'd give away every cent I have just to keep things the way they were?

Fine. If he wants to know then he'll know. It's all going to Hell anyway.

"Half a million."

I know that it's shocked him. His initial guesses were far lower than the true figure I'd paid out. It wasn't a huge sum – not when I have million upon million in the bank. I'll recover the outlay in interest in a just over a year or so.

I know that he's upset but I stand by my convictions. If I hadn't done it then there would have been a media frenzy. Noah's life would be turned upside down – my quiet retreat to be with him would be smashed into itty bitty pieces.

* * *

"You could have told him to run the story Kurt. Instead you treated me like a dirty little secret."

I won't be anyone's dirty little secret.

"You used me to pretend to have a normal life. The story might not have gone to print but it did what they wanted it to do. I see the real you now – you've let your life get the better of you and you chose _it_ over me."

* * *

"I couldn't take the chance...", I can hear him scoffing down the line – even as I scoff at myself, "... I didn't know what else to do..."

His words cut me to the quick because I know that's exactly how I've pictured it myself in my own mind. My little bit of rough. My rugged, graceless, untameable wild animal – so different from the quiet, effeminate Lukas.

* * *

My eyes are blurring and I realise that I'm actually crying as I say my piece. My final goodbye to the only person I've ever loved.

They say that love is the power.

Well that's just a load of sappy bullshit created by Hallmark to sell cards at holidays if you ask me.

Love is only the power when it comes hand in hand with trust. And I can't bring myself to trust him anymore – despite everything we've been through – the drink, the drugs – the sleepless nights.

I won't be reduced to begging for scraps like a dog.

"I'm hanging up now Kurt. You made your choice and now – if you love me like you say you do – you'll let me make mine."

His pleading whisper is like a dagger to my heart.

* * *

"Noah... please baby..."

I'm reduced to pleading with him now. I know though that it's all for nought. There's no going back – I've fractured our relationship with my secrets and lies.

He's right that I should have just told the reporter to run the story. I thought I knew better though and that I could have my cake and eat it. Noah was never supposed to find out – that he did was an accident of fate.

Fate is a bitch.

* * *

"Goodbye Kurt Hummel. And for the record. I love you too."

I hurl the cell at the wall and watch as the innards spill out an onto the floor and the light from the screen dies leaving me once again – huddled in the dark, under the glow of pink neon.

Totally alone – the way I started.

* * *

"Noa-..."

The line's gone dead and I know in my heart that were I to call again he won't pick up. I screwed it up and that's it. We're done – just like that.

I can't feel anything as I let the handset fall from between my suddenly limp fingers.

I'm numb. Totally numb.

He left me.

I'm alone._  
_

* * *

**A/N: There we go – 10,000 words of complete ramblings moulded into a narrative. Who knows whether it was worth reading or not – that's not my call ultimately.**

**Enjoy.**

**AND PLEASE – REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW**


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